A3.
This is part of the #Dungeon23 challenge in which you make one room to a dungeon every day for a year. In an effort to link my memories to the creation, I am also writing a personal journal entry with each room that may or may not be related.
You don’t have to read that part.
A3.
The winding and claustrophobic tunnel from A2 ends in another chamber. It smells sour and rotten.
Nearly every stone surface, except for the ceiling, is covered in shallow grooves the width of a finger. There is no discernible shape or pattern. The time necessary to do something like this by hand seems incalculable.
At the center of the room is a large mound of moist dirt about 5 feet tall. It looks like it has been shaped by hand. It is adorned by moss and sticks.
The smell intensifies the closer one gets to the mound.
A keen eye may see that bits of splintered bone protrude from the dirt.
Physically interacting with the mound leaves red stains on whatever touches it. Breaking down the mound in anyway will alert the shaman who made it. So something may be coming for you.
Trapped inside the mound is the body of Ulnick, one of the bandits who had set up camp in A1. He is barely alive and may appear dead should anyone uncover him.
In any case, he will have little energy to do much of anything and may become a hindrance to the explorers.
If left undisturbed by fearful adventurers, Ulnick will be transformed into a ghoul and wander these halls looking for sustenance.
There are exits to the North and South, though the exploring party may have already lost the ability to discern these cardinal directions at this point.
1/3/23
Hey, it’s Day 3, this might be the beginning of a habit.
I’m starting to get a very vague idea of what is going on with the dungeon. At least the early stages. I’m making it up each morning, with no real plan, which is neither practical or noble. However, I can feel the roller coaster of my imagination reaching that first crest, and future details will start coming to me fast and wild. Then when I sit down for these little writing sessions I’ll have a better idea of where I’m going.
At least I hope so. Or not. Whatever comes comes.
I got into zen during a show I was in years ago. I’m an actor, by the way. You may not have already known that. It may come up a lot in this section of future posts.
Anyway.
During one show I got this book on some Zen philosophy. I could not tell you the name of the book or the author. I am terrible about those kinds of details, but only with non-fiction books, which is probably a dangerous practice now that I think about it.
Anyway again.
One of the concepts in the book that I really latched on to was the concept of the tea cup.
A tea cup is meant to receive and hold tea. In order to do that it must be in a specific state.
If it is upside down, it is closed off and receives nothing.
If it is cracked, it is leaky and holds nothing.
If it is right side up and empty, it can receive and hold anything.
If you try to pour tea on the first two tea cups it makes a mess.
So the idea is to try and be the third tea cup. Open and welcoming to what may be poured. Maybe it’s tea. Maybe it’s lemon juice. You have no control over the pouring, you only have control over the state of your cup.
This is really helpful for acting(and playing ttrpgs), but also… you know… life and stuff. Or maybe it isn’t - what do I know.
What I can say for sure is that being an open tea cup is hard. Eventually you get tired of receiving whatever the world is pouring. I can be a bit of an over-analyst, so when I get tea I want to figure out all the ingredients. Is this matcha? Where does matcha come from? Is that fair trade? Can you teach me how to make it?
At that point my cup is drowning in tea, bro.
That’s usually when I get frustrated and turn my tea cup over and go to sleep. It doesn’t matter what time of day it is.
The overflowing cup is a common story in zen teachings. When you get this way they say shit like “return to the breath”. Or “think of impermanence and that you were a child, and you will grow old and will eventually die”. So when we’re overwhelmed we should return to the fatalistic cycle of nature, and recognize that “it’s all good, this feeling is fleeting because everything dies including me”.
Breathe.
Breathe.
That sounds like it can get really depressing if you already feel like you’re drowning.
You’re right. You are absolutely right.
Depending on one’s disposition, the zen mind can be a little less like a tea cup and a lot more like a rope - one long enough to hang yourself with.
Yikes. So how does one stay the cup and not the rope?
See you tomorrow.
-Jae
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